Of tears and skies full of stars
by KeikoHPfan
Summary: George doesn't show up at the Burrow on Christmas Eve, and Harry is sent to check on him. Written as a gift for the lovely Brikaylaco. Will be slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer :** I do not own Harry Potter, and I'm not J.K. Rowling, obviously, but thanks for asking.

**Warnings:** Slash (nothing too graphic) - depression

**AN:** written as a gift for Brikaylaco who is one of my most faithful reviewer and asked for a George/Harry Christmas story.

It was meant to be a one-shot, but I decided to write a full story out of it. I changed the rating accordingly and will add chapters very soon! In the meantime, enjoy!

HP-HP-HP-HP

Harry shifts from foot to foot in front of the shop, the snow chilling his feet through his worn-out trainers.

He really wishes he were somewhere else. Why has it to be him again?

Oh, right. Because the Weasleys hope that George will not tell him to fuck off right away, since he's not technically part of the family. Harry personally thinks that it's bullshit, but he's not brave enough to say it out loud, especially in front of a teary-eyed and hopeful Molly.

The shop is dark, but there's light pouring through one of the windows of the upper floor. Harry is sure that George is in.

He's also sure as hell that the redhead doesn't want to see him. Fuck, why him? Honestly.

Harry opens the backdoor with Ron's spare key and makes his way upstairs, muttering under his breath about stupid Christmas dinners and overbearing families. Not that he means any of it, but it doesn't matter. He's allowed to grumble once in a while, isn't he?

George's flat is dark except for a stray of light coming from his bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and Harry can hear the sound of sheets being moved and the wooden bedframe cracking slightly. Harry frowns and calls his friend's name softly, but doesn't get any answer. Harry resigns himself and pushes the door open, and then he stands here, gaping like an brainless goldfish.

Well, fuck.

George is lying in his bed, apparently naked – Harry silently thanks Merlin for the rumpled sheet barely covering the red head's groin – his eyes closed and his face a worrying shade of white. An older man is sitting on the side of the bed, apparently busy tying his shoes. The room reeks of sweat and sex and cheap alcohol.

The wand is in Harry's hand before he can even think about it. George moves a little and Harry nearly sighs with relief.

"Get out" he barks, and the blond man startles badly.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Harry can see George opening his eyes slowly, and the blonde idiot standing looking ridiculous with the fly of his trousers open and his half-buttoned shirt. Harry realizes he's still in the shadows of the living room, and he steps forward.

The blonde man gapes and stutters pitifully. Harry knows he shouldn't enjoy his obvious discomfiture so much, but honestly, this never gets old. Being the fucking Boy-Who-Lived-Twice has some perks, after all.

"Get out, I said. Now."

The man opens his mouth, then closes it and retrieves his coat from the back of a chair. He gets out of the room without sparing a glance for George, and Harry barely refrains to hex him.

The redhead moron is now curled on his side, the white sheet tightly tucked around him.

"Oh no you don't. Get up and take a shower, George. Everybody's waiting for you."

"Don't wanna go."

"I know. But you will."

"I can't."

Harry sighs and puts his wand back in its holster on his forearm. He carefully sits on George's bed.

"That bad?"

"Yeah."

"What were you thinking, bringing that idiot to your flat? It could be dangerous."

"Hey! I always use protection, I'll have you know."

George pouts and Harry rolls his eyes.

"Well, I'm glad you do, but I wasn't even talking about that. George, how often d'you bring strangers here? You have no idea who they are! They could hurt you... George! Fuck, are you drunk?"

"Maybe. Keeps the cold away, y'know? 'm always cold."

Harry wants to tell George to think of his family. To think of what Fred would say if he saw his twin like that. But he knows it's not what George needs, he knows it would be cruel and pointless. Merlin, it's such a wretched situation.

"George, get out of there. You need a shower and a warm meal. Come on."

"'M not going, Harry. Don't make me."

"Then you're telling your mother you're not coming, mate. No way I'll do it. Send her a Patronus and take a shower, you're stinking."

"Can't send a Patronus. Not anymore."

Harry's chest constricts painfully and he bits his lip.

"Alright. Alright, I'll tell them you're not feeling well, okay? Then I'll try to get us something to eat while you bathe. I want you to be clean and dressed when I get back, George."

"Yes Mum."

George smirks and Harry raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Don't be cheeky, you stupid prat. I could always ask your Mum to come."

Brown eyes widen slightly and Harry snorts.

"That's what I thought. Though tomorrow you're going to explain why you didn't come and why I had to stay with you, understood?"

HP-HP-HP-HP

George is sitting on his couch, barefoot and clad in faded jeans and a black tee-shirt. It doesn't suit him, somehow. Such a depressing color doesn't suit the owner of the downstairs joke shop. Harry sighs, setting the bag of take away curry on the coffee table – which is surprisingly clean.

"I had a Hangover potion at home. I hope it's still good, Seamus gave it to me on my birthday but I never needed it. I don't know how long you can keep potions" Harry shrugs. George's dull brown eyes lock with him and he takes the phial without a word, downing it with a grimace.

"I hope you like curry. It's from the little Muggle restaurant next to my flat, you know? Come on, dig in. It's better hot."

"Thank you."

Harry sits next to the redhead and they eat in silence. George has lit a few candles and the room is actually very nice. The walls are painted in warm colors – deep yellow and soft orange, mostly – and the light wood of the floor gives a modern touch to it. The brown leather couch is really used but it's comfortable.

"It's nice here."

"Yeah. I finished it last week. Fred... Fred wasn't too big on decorating, but I couldn't stand to leave it the way it was anymore."

"Well, I like it."

"Thank you." George munches on a piece of chicken and swallows with difficulty. "You... you didn't have to stay. But... I'm glad you did. I'm sorry, for, you know."

"No problem."

"I don't want them to worry, you know. I... I know they do. I just... I can't bear it. It's worse, at the Burrow, you know? There are so many memories... Even more than here."

"It's hard for them too."

"I know."

"They don't know how to deal with you, do they?"

"No. I know it's my fault, but-"

"It's not, George. D'you remember this summer? I couldn't stand to see anyone. I couldn't bear to get congratulations or to see people crying anymore. I don't know what was worse."

"I remember Mum was going nuts when you locked yourself in Grimmauld Place. But Hermione said to let you be. She said you needed the time and that you'd come back eventually."

"Yeah."

"Is it your not so-subtle way to tell me it gets better?"

George's smile is a bit hesitant, a bit fragile, but it's a smile anyway.

"Well, it does. I'm not saying it's all roses, but, yeah."

"I just- I miss him so much."

"I know. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, no."

"Okay."

"We used to drink hot chocolate with sprinkles and marshmallows after Christmas dinner, you know. With Fred. We climbed on the roof with blankets and we drank our chocolate under the stars. Maybe... Never mind."

"We could do it, if you wanted."

And so they do, climbing awkwardly on the frost-covered roof with their mugs of hot chocolate – laced with Firewhiskey, because, well, they're adults now – and sitting on an old blanket, another one wrapped around both their bodies.

"That's nice" Harry comments, and he sees George nodding from the corner of his eye.

"Yes. Merry Christmas, Harry."

"Merry Christmas, George."

Their breaths create puffs of fog in the cold air, and the nightly sky is dark and full of stars. Harry thinks of Sirius and how he would have liked to do such a thing, funny and pointless and a bit dangerous, and he smiles. George shivers beside him and the dark haired wraps his free arms around strong shoulders.

Somehow, they're going to be alright.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer :** I do not own Harry Potter, and I'm not J.K. Rowling, obviously, but thanks for asking.

**Warnings:** Slash (nothing too graphic) - depression

**AN:** and here's the second half of the story - I hope you'll like it and thank me with reviews ^^

HP-HP-HP-HP

**_One year later._**

Harry wakes up to the sound of very loud snoring in his left ear. He sighs and tries to disentangle himself from his lover, but the strong arm around his waist is well and truly trapping him.

"George. Wake up, you moron!"

"Hmpf. Nope."

"Come on. Your mother's going to be mad if we're late."

"Don't care. Lemme sleep."

Harry pinches the freckle forearm resting on his stomach, and George groans.

"Ow!"

"Move, you big oaf!"

George blinks sleepily, apparently trying to focus on Harry's face. Long fingers suddenly shot up and trace his jaw slowly, and Harry can't help but close his eyes and sigh.

"D'you remember last year?"

"What?"

"You barged in with your wand drawn. You forced me to get up and take a shower, and then to eat. Anyone else would have just given up and gone, but you didn't. You stayed with me."

"George..."

"No, let me say it. You're everyone's Savior, that's true. But for me... You're so much more than that. I don't think I would have last much longer, you know."

"Don't say such things." Harry snaps, and George smiles.

"But it's true. But you... you seemed to know what I felt. You seemed to know when to shut up and what to say. You didn't mind to be woken up in the middle of the night because I had a nightmare."

"Well, you don't mind mine either, do you?"

"No, I don't. But we live together. At the time I Flooed you at 2 am. It's hardly the same thing."

"Still." Harry shrugs. "I was glad you trusted me enough to call me."

George leans forward and kisses him, humming quietly in Harry's mouth. Then the redhead rests his forehead against Harry's, brown eyes shining a bit too brightly.

"I just hope I'll make you half as happy as you make me, Harry."

"Don't be ridiculous. You already make me happy. What's with the sudden mood?"

"I don't know. I just... I love you so much."

"Love you too, you know that, right?"

Georges smiles softly, the gentle smile that's only for Harry, the smile that makes his heart stop each time, because it's good and it's almost too much and it's like the gaping hole in his chest heals a little bit more each time. And George knows everything about that kind of absence, that kind of consuming darkness.

It's been a though year, to be completely honest. Harry has fought for George harder than everyone else. The Weasleys were at loss, and their own grief didn't allow them to understand what George needed. But Harry got it, because he needed the same thing. Normalcy and peace and stupid things to do, like testing George's new sweets and staying up all night to watch the stars, even if that meant being sick like never before or having to drink coffee all day to stay awake.

They went from acquaintances to close friends almost instantly, understanding each other with the kind of silent communication that usually comes with years of friendship. The Weasleys were only too happy to see both of them getting better, especially George, and only Hermione had sometimes that worried look on her face that told that she knew there was something else. She always knows, really.

It had to happen, really, Harry thinks as George is slowly kissing his neck. Probably trying to distract him enough to forget about the Burrow and Christmas Eve. Not going to happen, though.

One day Harry had walked in on George in the shower – worried because the idiot hadn't answered the Floo for two hours – and time had stopped for a second or two. Harry had finally muttered an apology, his cheeks crimson and his hands shaking, and closed the door with a whispered curse. The dark haired had hoped that George would simply let it lie and forget about the whole thing, but of course, the idiot hadn't. He had teased Harry to no end, until the dark haired had had enough and had just kissed him to shut him up. Which it had, for a while.

There has been no awkwardness between them, astonishingly. Only a quiet kind of love made of understanding and tenderness and easy companionship. Well, that, and mind-blowing sex, Harry muses as George's hand slips under the sheets to cup his half-hard cock. That's a nice plus, obviously.

George insisted that they should be discreet about their relationship, but Harry has had enough secrets and lies to last him a lifetime, and refused to hide. Harry understood later that George's reluctance had more to do with his own feeling of inadequacy than anything else. It had taken a lot of time for George to be confident enough about himself to accept public demonstrations of affection. But Harry has never given up. Ron had been speechless for a few days, Hermione had only smiled knowingly, and Molly and Arthur had shed a few tears and hugged them tightly enough to choke them. The press hadn't written anything too bad – maybe because Harry had asked Kingsley for help and threaten to sue them with the Minister's help – and all in all, it had gone pretty smoothly.

George is still mapping Harry's neck and chest with his tongue, apparently, and his hand is still busy.

"George..." Harry groans, and the idiot has the nerve to chuckle. "We don't have any time for this."

"There's always time for this."

"Please, just-"

"Oh I love it when you beg me... Do it again."

Harry rolls his eyes and cuffs his lover around the head.

"Ow!"

"Get up, we have to shower now or your Mum will have our heads."

George groans and rolls away.

"Way to kill the mood, Harry."

"That was the idea."

Harry stretches before standing up, padding barefoot around the bed. He shivers slightly as the cold air of Grimmauld Place meets his bare skin, and smirks as he reaches the door.

"The sooner you join me in the shower, the longer you'll have to enjoy my naked body."

Harry chuckles as he enters the shower, because that loud noise is definitely George trying to disentangle himself from the sheets and ending up sprawled on the floor in his haste.

The water is too hot and it almost burns Harry's chilled skin, but it's good anyway. They have enough time for a quickie under the spray of steaming water, and then they'll bicker about being late and what they should be wearing. They'll spend Christmas Eve at the Burrow and it'll be good, too, and then they'll have hot chocolate on the roof, and they'll think of Fred and Sirius and all the others, and it'll sting and make their eyes water, but it'll be okay in the end. Life is good enough, together.

And surely the three Marauders and their redhead heir up in the stars are proud of Harry and George, because they didn't give up.

Though they probably wouldn't have wanted to see that, Harry muses with a grin as George takes him in his arms from behind, biting his earlobe and rubbing his hardness against the small of Harry's back. Harry chuckles as he imagines Sirius' gaping mouth and Remus' blush and Fred's lewd comment, and then he surrenders and lets his head fall on George's shoulder.

They'll definitely be late.


End file.
